Uncharted avenues, p.1
Uncharted Avenues, page 1
Uncharted Avenues
Lisa Keifer
Copyright © 2023 by Lisa Keifer
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved.
No portion of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner without written permission from the copyright owner, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law and for the use of quotations in a book review.
For more information, please contact:
lisakeifer@lisakeiferauthor.com
Cover Design: Sarah Kil Design Studio
Editor: Joanne Lui
To all the kind, loving, fierce, determined, protective single moms I’ve had the luck and the honor of knowing. Life isn’t always easy or fair, but you have persevered and carried on. You all rock!
Contents
1. Chapter 1
2. Chapter 2
3. Chapter 3
4. Chapter 4
5. Chapter 5
6. Chapter 6
7. Chapter 7
8. Chapter 8
9. Chapter 9
10. Chapter 10
11. Chapter 11
12. Chapter 12
13. Chapter 13
14. Chapter 14
15. Chapter 15
16. Chapter 16
17. Chapter 17
18. Chapter 18
19. Chapter 19
20. Chapter 20
21. Chapter 21
22. Chapter 22
23. Chapter 23
24. Chapter 24
25. Chapter 25
26. Chapter 26
27. Chapter 27
28. Chapter 28
29. Chapter 29
30. Chapter 30
31. Chapter 31
32. Chapter 32
33. Chapter 33
34. Chapter 34
35. Chapter 35
36. Chapter 36
37. Chapter 37
38. Chapter 38
39. Chapter 39
40. Chapter 40
41. Chapter 41
42. Chapter 42
43. Chapter 43
44. Chapter 44
45. Chapter 45
46. Chapter 46
47. Chapter 47
48. Chapter 48
49. Want more Lost Hearts Found?
50. Holiday Distractions Preview
Chapter 1
Kenzie
“That gorgeous specimen of male over there can’t keep his dark, smoldering eyes off you, and if you don’t want him, I might have to brave twisting my ankle in these damn heels just to see if he’ll look up at me the way he looks at you.”
I don’t even have to glance over to know this woman is talking about Trevor. He’s chatted with me the whole time he’s been here. It’s what happens every time he comes to the diner, only this beautiful, obviously drunk woman doesn’t know Trevor’s my best friend.
I laugh internally, but also hate what this woman’s suggesting. I don’t care how single he is or that he might like a night with her. I just can’t stomach the idea of Trevor getting naked with . . . anyone, really, though I know it happens.
“Sorry, he’s taken.” I give the woman and her friends a smile. Only one of them is sober enough to perhaps figure out how sorry I’m not.
The first woman looks a little disappointed, I admit, but still, I don’t care.
I walk away from them, having already supplied the extra barbecue sauce they asked for. Then Trevor calls me over.
“Why do those women keep staring at me?” he asks in a whisper. I wish he could whisper it in my ear instead of just in my general direction. Then I remind myself that best friends are not supposed to do things like that—the same thing I’ve been telling myself all the time lately, it seems.
“The blonde one in the pink top wants to have you for dinner instead of her chicken strips.”
Trevor laughs. “Wow, that’s abrupt.” His face tells me he’s not sure what to think of my bold words.
“Maybe I should send her over,” I tease. “I know you like the tourist types. The temporary women.”
His eyebrows shoot up. “Please don’t.”
“Relax. I told her you’re taken.”
Now he grins. “By you?”
“I wasn’t specific.” But the way he looks at me has me wishing it were true.
From my vantage point, I can see the woman—Jacey, I think I heard a friend call her—watch us the entire time Trevor and I talk at his table. He gives a soft annoyed groan. I move my eyes back to his handsome face.
“Maybe I can make this believable.”
I have no idea what he’s talking about until he stands up. His rough hands cradle my face, his touch gentle on my cheeks. Before I have a chance to react to this or the sexy wink he gives me, he plants a kiss on my lips.
There are sparks immediately. It’s an electric jolt, in the best freaking way. Trevor wastes no time parting my lips with his tongue, giving me tingles everywhere. The heat from him roasts my body as we passionately explore each other’s mouths, both of us now tasting like the root beer he was drinking moments before I walked over here. His short, neatly trimmed beard rubs against my skin, and I have a flash of it rubbing on other parts of me.
But this is crazy.
He’s my best friend.
I’m his.
This is our first kiss.
Kiss.
I’m at work in a town, in a diner, where nearly everyone knows both of us. Only the women in that booth don’t know that Trevor and I are only friends.
Not a single person has said or done anything to stop us.
One of us moans. Then we both do. My hands are on his face. His arms are wrapped around me now, his body pressed into mine, hands gently caressing my back through my stretchy T-shirt. Then, slowly, Trevor moves his mouth in a way to let me know we should end the kiss.
By the time we’ve separated and I glance over, the women are gone. Dottie, my coworker and Trevor’s aunt, walks by with a tray of food for a table of regulars. Trevor and I are still in each other’s embrace.
“Are you not even going to ask what your nephew’s doing to me?” I ask Dottie.
She smirks. “Nope.”
Not a single coworker or regular customer, especially all my fellow Syracuse Falls citizens, seem at all concerned that Trevor and I just made out. No one’s even batted an eye in shock.
“They’ve known both of us for years,” I whisper to Trev. Neither of us has pulled away yet. I don’t know why.
“I’m sure they know there’s nothing to it,” he replies as he steps back. My arms feel empty now. “They know we’re just friends.” His smile drops a bit. His deep brown eyes watch me, but I can’t tell what he’s thinking just by looking in them.
“Yeah,” I say.
He’s right.
I know he is.
But it doesn’t sit well with me. Not in a bad way, I don’t think. It just feels like there’s something I’m missing, especially since there’s something to Trevor’s expression that I can’t quite read.
“Yeah, I’m sure that’s it,” I add.
Something has changed with him now. I know he kissed me to save himself from the thirsty woman, but I feel like there’s more to it.
This has happened a lot recently. This feeling of a change in Trevor, or perhaps a change in how I see him. It feels like he wants more, from me or with me. But it could also just be in my head. I’ve been single ever since my stupid-ass husband walked out on me and our baby daughter and suddenly became my stupid-ass ex-husband.
Whatever this is, I need to let it go. At least for now. I’m still at work in a diner full of people, for crying out loud. No time to dissect emotions.
Trevor gives me a nod and a smile, as well as a promise to call me in the morning, like we do every day. Then he’s out the door.
I’m gripped with the fear that he might go find Jacey after all. She’s definitely his type—most importantly because she isn’t local. And if she’s his type, as fancy and brash as she is, that means I’m not. She and I have a totally different style and a totally different vibe. I’m a local, which is number one on Trevor’s list of hell no. Not to mention the fact that we really are just friends.
I give my head a quick shake and snap out of it, moving my feet and eventually grabbing the plates I need from the kitchen. Thankfully, Dottie covered the couple tables that needed me while I was lost in my stupor.
This won’t happen again.
I will never try to convince myself that Trevor wants me as more than a friend.
And I’ll make myself okay with that.
Chapter 2
Trevor
I visit Kenzie at the diner every day she’s scheduled, even if we have plans later that day or night. It’s too good and too gratifying to be around her no matter where we are. Running my family farm isn’t easy, and it’s sometimes difficult to get away from my responsibilities to go visit with Kenz, but I’d do just about anything to see her.
As I leave the diner now after the best damn kiss of my life, I see those women just down the street, at the corner. Hopefully, they’ll cross the street, moving themselves away from me, but I don’t want to take the risk of being spotted. I duck behind a car parked along the curb, hating the fact that I didn’t leave my truck closer to the diner. I have to walk toward the women to get to it, placin g me in an unfortunate dilemma.
My sister Polly texted me right before I walked out the door—my lips still on fire from Kenzie—asking me to return to the farm because there’s something not adding up in the apple yield and the sales spreadsheets covering the past five years that she’s been scouring through. It’s late, but the work is often never over, especially the paperwork. Well, especially with Polly in charge of it.
Heading to my pickup truck could cause me to be spotted by the blonde. Even with that kiss I just planted on Kenzie, there’s a chance that woman might still want me for dinner, the thought of which has me thinking maybe I’ll hide out here behind Tysen’s car for an extra five minutes, just in case.
The next morning, as Kenzie pours me a cup of coffee and everyone who was here last night pretends nothing out of the ordinary happened, I watch my best friend with hopeful eyes, wanting her to intuitively know that kiss meant everything to me.
“Lemon meringue today, right?” she asks.
As an excuse that my staff won’t get mad about, I buy pie for them every day at the diner. Mostly, they eat it at lunch or take it home for later. Some of them might never eat it. Some might throw it away. I don’t know. I don’t really care. Of course, I do give them the choice of opting out any day they want because the pie isn’t really the point of the diner trips. It gives me a good enough reason in everyone else’s eyes. I already have the best reason for me: my best friend.
I nod, watching the sparkle in her eyes as the sunlight from the window hits them just right.
“Coming right up.” She starts to walk away, but stops short and turns to me again. “By the way, I saw that stack of books you bought Hayzel.”
I feel myself grinning sheepishly. “She’s been wanting to read that series for ages, and the library is always out of its copies. Same with online.”
Now Kenzie grins, too. “You spoil her too much.”
“We both do, but it’s okay. She’s a healthy, happy, well-adjusted child. You’re doing things right with her.”
Kenzie leans closer to kiss my cheek. When she leaves and comes back a few minutes later, she has the bags full of pie to-go, as well as a slice of carrot cake just for me.
It’s literally just for me, too. Knox, one of the cooks here at the diner, lets Kenzie use his family recipe, but he’s such a perfectionist that he’ll only allow her to make it here. He also altered it so it would make a small cake, not a full- size one. Kenzie bakes the carrot cake—my favorite—once a week, and I get to order it any day. There’s always some fresh in the fridge or freshly thawing from the freezer. I don’t care either way.
Sometimes I take it to-go, but this time I’m glad Kenzie made the choice for me.
As I take my first heavenly bite—complete with the sweet, tangy cream-cheese frosting Kenzie spent hours practicing before she got it just right, when she first started offering me the cake—my best friend studies me with her eyes.
“Change your mind yet?” she asks.
I shake my head, hoping she’ll let it go. Instead, she squeezes herself into the booth with me, though I’m in the middle of the bench and there isn’t much room for her. “Kenz, no. Not gonna happen.”
“Oh, come on. Jade said you’d be perfect for it. All you have to do is hold a banner and recite—”
“Recite a few lines,” I say at the same time she does. I’ve heard this speech too many times. This makes me laugh to myself. “Already told my sister this. I am not an actor. That’s what the performers are for.”
“Yeah, but they lost one when he got that part in New York. Jade told us you’re the same size and height as him. She wouldn’t have to alter the costume like she would for a different actor.”
I’ve already devoured my slice of cake. It never seems to last long. Kenzie just makes it too damn good, even though I wish I could slow down and savor it like she does when she eats a piece. It may be only for me, but I always share with her and Hayzel. The heady look Kenz gets when she eats it is worth a million times more than keeping the cake to myself.
Since my amazing dessert is gone too soon and I really need to return to the farm, I put my hands on Kenzie’s hips and slide her out of the booth, allowing her to stand before following. Then I kiss the side of her head as usual and say, “Love you, Sweet Cake.” Also as usual.
That’s our thing. We tell each other love you every day. Have for nearly our entire decade-long friendship. Odd for best friends? Perhaps. I don’t think so, though. I just wish she knew it isn’t platonic on my side. I mean, I thought the kiss last night would have shown her that, but she hasn’t given any indication this ever occurred to her.
“Love you, too, Trev.” She gives me a soft kiss on the cheek. I wish I could turn and catch her by surprise on the mouth again, but it’s not a good idea.
“Think about it,” she calls as I walk toward the door.
“Not happening.” I leave with these as my last words, though I do throw her one last grin that she laughs at, then blows a friendly kiss to.
With the pie safe on the back seat of my truck, hopefully without the risk of sliding to the floorboard, I drive back to Bernhardt Farms and Orchard.
I love my job. I really do. And I know it was necessary for one of my siblings or me to take over once Dad died. But damn. I miss my journalism job sometimes. Well, I miss having less decisions to make and less people who depend on me. Running a family farm is high risk and extremely stressful in a lot of ways.
The sound of a new text emanates from my phone. I’m sure it’s Polly again. She and I already met up twice today so we could try to figure out this apple-yield mess since it was too late for phone calls and emails to our buyers last night. But I’ve also been busy with all our other crops and harvests—what with this June weather being wholly uncooperative—plus everything that’s going on with our shops and whatnot. It’s never-ending, it seems.
I don’t check my phone until I make it back to the farm. The drive only takes a few minutes, anyway. Less than ten, most days. Only I see it wasn’t my sister. It was actually my mom, with news that one of the doors just broke on the barn we use for the combine, and also that the track loader apparently now has a bad transmission, according to Rob, our worker who was using the machine at the time.
Like I said. It’s always something.
Hours later, I’ve distributed the pie, helped board up the open barn doorway with some scrap wood we had lying around, checked in with Rob again about what the track loader actually did or didn’t do in addition to how it sounded, and called in a reliable mechanic we’ve used several times on short notice. I also helped Polly finish sorting the yield numbers and—with the assistance of a few of my workers—checked on the status of everything else on the farm, just in case something decided to play along with Murphy’s Law today.
As far as I could tell, it all looked okay. My staff agreed with me, as did Polly, Mom, and my brother Dawson, who stopped by to lend a hand.
Kenzie’s just about off work now, or she should be. She and Hayzel will be home soon enough, after Kenz picks Hayzel up from her parents’ house. I could sit at home by myself, with my cats, missing my best friend, or I could invite myself to her house like I normally would before that make-out session last night.
Today is Friday. Kenz has often wondered why I don’t have Friday night dates. Well, I do, just not in a way I can fully explain to her. Or rather, not in a way I ever thought she’d want to hear, at least until yesterday. Even now, I’m still not sure she’s ready for it. The best I can do is go over there as a way to show her that she is and always will be more important to me than a date with any other woman ever could be.
Chapter 3
Kenzie
“If you don’t take those plates to their tables, they’ll be so cold, I’ll have to make them again, and it’ll come out of your paycheck,” Knox whisper-shouts at me.
I’ve been stuck in the same spot, watching my best friend—the man I’ve loved in a strictly platonic way for years, until recently—leave the diner, oddly finding myself wanting him to come back again. Wanting him to cradle me in his arms like he did last night. Wanting his weirdly soft lips on mine again, aching for that little squeeze he gave me before our kiss ended.
